Saturday, January 12, 2019

Why is it that I feel a compulsion to go through files,
notebooks and journals at the beginning of each year? I’m bad at throwing
things away, so this effort is really quite ineffective. I just finished
reading through a pile of letters my husband-to-be wrote to me in the months
before we married in 1958. Qui

And now I’ve come across a piece I wrote in 1996, five years
after he died. I find that it rings true to this day. This is what I
said:

Dear Dave,

As the fifth anniversary of your death approaches, there are
so many things I wish I could share with you.

Well. I can’t.

But I can hope that somewhere, wherever you are, you know
these things.

I hope you know that it has been an endless five years and
also, the time has flown.

It has been painfully lonely, and it has been filled with
friends and family and lots of love, and people who care.

I have learned to live alone and like it.

I have learned to figure out my own taxes, and I still don’t
like doing it.

I hate buying liquor for a party.

I’m not good at opening wine bottles.

Most of all, I hate putting the silverware away after a
party. I’ve taken to just throwing it into the chest, instead of putting it
carefully into the little slots.

Those things are your job, damn it!

But I’m doing okay.

I don’t sleep so well alone.

And sometimes I don’t think so well alone.

I miss chewing the fat with the neighbors. I just can’t do
it the way you did.

I miss your unreasonable optimism, your point of view on
things, your help in problem-solving.

Whatever you did or did not do, you always supported my
spirit, and I miss that.

I hope you know about these kids of ours.

They get A-plus reproducing in the last five years. Two
grandchildren have become seven, soon to be eight.

They have all moved into new houses or to new places.

They all have jobs that please and excite them.

You should also know that most everyone is sick of hearing
me talk about them.

Thursday, January 3, 2019

It took John Kerry nearly 600 pages to write his memoir, Every Day Is Extra, published in 2018.I picked it up because I was intensely
interested in knowing his thoughts and attitude about the current
administration. It took me quite a while to get from the dedication page—to his
wife, children and grandchildren—and to
the future, to the moving conclusion.

Those “to the future” words should have been a clue. Despite
a lifetime of struggles, debating, cajoling, reasoning--standing up for
strongly-held beliefs during difficult times, through devastating losses and
exhilarating victories, John Kerry has never lost faith.

When he arrives at the present, after describing stints in
the military, as a senator,as a
candidate for president, and as secretary of state, he doesn’t bad mouth anyone.
He still believes in America’s capacity for greatness. His words remind us that,
“Good people believed the world—at home and abroad—could be different and better.
Citizens organized. People fought for something. We marched. We voted. We got
knocked down and we got back up.”

He has observed hard-to imagine change and people who have
bent history. He says the fight at home has always been a struggle and that is
what makes him optimistic about today. He insists that America is good at confronting
daunting challenges.

“I’m an optimist because America has a pretty good 242-year
record of turning difficult passages into landmark progress. I’m an optimist
because of the people I’ve met and what life has taught me,” he says.

In the moving paragraph below, he explains:

That’s why I wrote the
book: to share with you that the abiding truth I’ve learned in my journey is
you can change your country and you can change the world. You may fail at
first, but you can’t give in. You have to get up and fight the fight again, but
you can get there. The big steps and the small steps all add up. History is
cumulative. We all can contribute to change if we’re willing to enter the
contest for the future, often against the odds.

Thank you to John Kerry, who at age 75, continues to fight
the good fight.

Wednesday, January 2, 2019

Nine members of the Arndt, James, and Lee families
participated in the four-mile Thanksgiving Day race in Fort Collins this year.

Nothing unusual about that. We’ve been doing this
family-friendly run for many years prior to chowing down big time later in the
day. We’ve been cruising around this course for so long in fact, that some of
the grandkids had their first race experience in a stroller. And rumor has it
that over time, a participant or two has faded away around the three-mile mark
which happens to be right by my house. Just too tempting to call it good right
there.

I could give you a rundown on just how long it took each
family member to complete the course, but it might get boring. Suffice it to
say that grandkids Mason Arndt, age 20 did it in 25 minutes and his sister
Abby, 25 was not far behind with a 31-minute run.

Most interesting to me though, were a couple of race times
I’ve been anticipating, waiting, even hoping for. This year my daughters,
Kristin, 59 and Jeni, 54, arrived at the finish line before I did. It was about
time.

I just ran across this in the process of cleaning out some
files. Since the author is a 17th century anonymous nun, I figured
she wouldn’t mind if I shared it.

Prayer for the
Chronologically Gifted

Lord, you know better than I know myself that I am growing
older and will someday be old. Keep me from the fatal habit of thinking I must
say something on every subject and on every occasion. Relieve me from craving
to straighten out everybody’s affairs. Make me thoughtful but not moody;
helpful but not bossy. With my vast store of wisdom it seems a pity not to use
it at all, but you know that I want a few friends at the end.

Keep my mind free from the recital of endless details, give
me wings to get to the point. Seal my lips on my aches and pains. They are increasing
and love of rehearsing them is becoming sweeter as the years go by. I dare not
ask for enough grace to enjoy the tales of others’ pain, but help me to endure
them with patience. I dare not ask for an improved memory that seems to clash
with the memories of others.

Teach me the glorious lesson that occasionally I may be
mistaken. Keep me reasonably sweet. I do not want to be a saint. Some of them
are so hard to live with but a sour old person is one of the crowning works of
the devil. Give me the ability to see good things in unexpected places and
talents in unexpected people, and give me, Lord, the grace to tell them so.

About Me

I'm a writer and small time entrepreneur with a company called "oldBags." I create note cards, book marks and coasters incorporating used tea bags as tiny canvases for my work.
Blogging is an opportunity for me to share my writing and and "teabagging" projects.